Page 18 of King of Omen

Lorenzo stood, too, moving with fluid elegance to his feet at the same time as I stepped forward, bringing me into his close personal space.

I jolted as he loomed over me, his chest to my shoulder, his breath in my hair, his sensual musk-soaked cologne and essence washing over me.

In an instant, I was reminded that this was not just any individual; this was one of the foremost feared men, yet one of the most carnal I’d ever met.

We froze, swaying into each other as if magnetised.

Tilting his head, he gazed down at me, my pussy inadvertently clenching as we locked eyes. ‘Whenever you need anything, Mia,’ he rasped. ‘Anything at all, call me.’

I gave him a puzzled glance, and his lips turned up.

‘Your phone, bella.’

His gravelled command was adulterated with sultriness and underscored by steel like a man not used to being told no.

I raised a brow yet found myself extending my device, swiping it to the new contacts screen.

He took the mobile from me with a smirk and typed.

He handed it back to me.

Onscreen were the initials that read ‘L.C.’, and a series of numbers were under it.

‘Grazie,’ was all I managed.

‘Anytime,’ he rasped in his unusual European accent, even as his breath hit my ear, sending a bolt of pure, unchecked need through my body.

I nodded and forced my eyes to lock with his, savouring the heat, musk and scent rolling off his frame.

I had an unexpected desire to wrap my hands around him and lift my face further to his. To let those lips give me some of his sexual healing and rip away the pain in my soul.

His eyes dilated, and his mouth quirked as if he perceived what I was thinking.

‘This is for your love for my aunt,’ he rasped.

He bent to me, and his hand slipped to my nape in such a gentle hold that tears came to my eyes.

Then he pressed those sultry lips to my cheek, his exhalation tickling my ear.

With a slight lift to the ends of his mouth, he pulled back and stepped away from me.

We locked eyes and stayed that way for moments, just staring into each other until I took a shaky breath and tore myself away because what the fuck?

I took one step before another, my heels almost catching between the terrace slabs.

I firmed my spine as my skin rippled from the furnace of the heated gaze on it, only escaping it when I charged back into the house.

Indoors, the echoes of laughter and subdued conversations floated around me above the soft strains of music.

Mindless and heart-pounding from my recent encounter with Lorenzo, I navigated through the sea of grievers, each offering condolences with sombre faces and gentle pats on the shoulder.

Bianca’s absence echoed in every corner, a haunting reminder of the void she had left behind.

Weaving through the mourners, I extended polite nods and brief acknowledgements to those who approached me with sympathy.

Dr. Hawthorne, Bianca’s physician, appeared at my side, her expression tender yet probing. ‘How are you holding up, Mia?’ she inquired, her voice laced with genuine concern.

I offered her a weary smile, certain that the day’s events were etched into every line of my face. ‘I’m doing OK,’ I said.

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